True North – an original poem

On the lamp table
out of the corner of my eye,
I see that dime you asked me for
so you could finish your homework
— some 2nd grade geometry thing.

Do you see
that stray, lonely Frasier fir needle,
hanging from the solitary invisible thread
of a spider web–
caught between death and Christmas,
spinning in infinity?
It reminds me I have not taken
my daily dose of evergreen
in several weeks.
That’s why I feel sick.
I actually had a date with death —
you did, too–
but it was canceled by the holiest miracle,
the coronation of the Forever King.

Did I tell you about the names of God?
Thousands of them. Nine million.
As many as the stars in the heavens.
So here’s some geometry for you, son:
the shortest distance between perfect love
and the North Star
is a straight line.